He'd Let Me Die
by bffimagine
Summary: Justin was the last person he thought he'd see standing on a rooftop. Brian/Justin, coarse language, episode relation especially to 308 and onward.


Disclaimer: I don't own Queer as Folk, regardless of how much I wish I did.

* * *

_"I don't know! Attempt suicide?!"_

_"He'd let me die."_

Justin didn't really mean it at the time. He was depressed over Ethan turning out to be a cheating liar who just happened to be able to twist words into pretty little sentiments that didn't mean anything. At least, since Brian said nothing he couldn't possibly lie. And Brian's actions never lied. Without words, Brian had told Justin he loved him more intensely, more sincerely and more whole-heartedly vulnerably than Ethan ever had. Words didn't mean anything.

So when Justin had said, "He'd let me die", he didn't think about it at all.

Why was he thinking about it now?

At first, he toyed with the idea of slashing his wrists open and bleeding all over the floor of the loft for someone (Brian) to find him. He wondered how Brian would react.

Would he dissolve into tears? Would he shake his head at the mess and go to Babylon? Maybe he would just call an ambulance and let Jennifer deal with him?

But then he decided that was the drama princess way out. Brian always hated drama princesses (although, unbeknownst to Justin, Brian did find it fairly cute when Justin queened out about something or another).

So then he started thinking about something quicker, more efficient and consequently slightly less messy. Cody Bell had managed to get a gun, and the stupid kid was... well, stupid. Justin could finagle someone out of a firearm, no big deal. Hell, he could most likely even get one from Cody himself if he wanted, all he'd have to say would be, "Let's go kick some hetero ass!"

Yet it still seemed like there would be too much of a mess for whoever found him (Brian) to clean up, and Justin didn't think it would be fair (didn't want to burden him) if there was a huge puddle of blood and brains everywhere.

Then the obvious struck (it usually takes a while when one is depressed out of his or her mind): why would the loft have to be the site of the self-execution?

Every time Justin passed by a tall building with windows or balconies, he would look up and think morosely to himself, 'Is that high enough to kill me?' He passed by bridgesand stared into the depths of water beneath them, trying to gauge how deep the water was. Would he drown in it?

He could always take pills, he rationed more than once, but that required actually buying something to OD on. And if he did, knowing Brian, he'd be found out.

The all-knowing brunette would say something like, "Having trouble sleeping, Sunshine?" and it would foil all of Justin's carefully laid plans. Partially because, fuck, Brian knew the pills were around (maybe he wanted him to) and partially because Brian would actually sound somewhat concerned (like he gave a shit) and it would make Justin feel guilty (melt completely and be reminded of exactly how much Brian did love him, even if he was never going to say it).

He knew it would be a horribly selfish thing to do. Someone (most likely Brian, provided that Jennifer even permits him to) would have to pay for and arrange a funeral (if he meant enough to anyone for them to do so) and Mel and Linds would be out of one potential and reliable babysitter, the diner would be out of one bus boy, Molly and Jen would lose a part of their family (hell, everyone, especially Deb, would lose part of their family), Em and Ted wouldn't be able to tease Brian about his younger lover, the art world would never be taken by a blond-haired, blue-eyed storm. And even though Brian would never admit to it (never say it out loud, with words), the loft would be fucking empty without Justin. It would be empty and lonely and _cold_.

The sky would be darker, more dismal without Sunshine.

--

Brian hadn't expected to see him there. In fact, Justin was the last person he ever thought he'd see standing on a rooftop, teetering at the edge and looking for all the world like the slightest breeze would send him toppling off and plummeting to his bloody, sidewalk cement death. Never one to panic, however, Brian immediately parked the 'vette into some illegal spot and was running up the stairs in that building with his heart throbbing relentlessly in his ears and his breath coming in short gasps.

"I think you've been hanging out with Mikey too much, Sunshine," Brian said coolly, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible (even when the blood rushing through his veins in his mindless fear was making him dizzy), "You know that even Rage can't fly."

He heard the blond emit a hollow laugh and he winced, too upset to even be glad that Justin's back was turned so as not to see the slight flinch that gave away too much.

"I wasn't planning on flying," the artists whispered. It was plain, blunt, hopelessly flat and so unlike Justin Brian had to take a few steps forward.

It seemed they stood there for a long time.

"If I jump," Justin said, breaking the silence, "Would you let me fall?"

Brian didn't know what to say.

"Not if I can catch you," he answered, "Or keep you from jumping in the first place."

Another tense silence followed, filled only by the lively cityscape ambiance, sirens in the distance, chattering from below, car horns honking.

Finally, Justin turned around, flawless cheeks tear-stained and almost-dewdrops on his long lashes.

"So even if I wanted to, you wouldn't let me die?"

Brian surged forward, wrapping his arms around Justin and cradling his head, fingers already entwined with spun-gold. He planted a soft kiss in the soft strands of summer.

"Never. I'd never let you die."

Justin's arms hung limply at his sides, his skin chilled and paler than usual.

"I love you, Brian."

Brian felt the words catch (lodge very painfully like a fishbone that refuses to go down) in his throat. He wanted to say them, it would be right to, but it was just so out of character, so out of _Brian_, that he couldn't. He wouldn't. He--

"I love you too, Justin. I love you."

Oh, what the hell.

--

They stood there for what seemed like hours before Brian took Justin's hand and pulled him off the edge. He inwardly laughed at himself--after all, was he not the one who kept pushing the poor boy away? It was inevitable that Justin would end up balanced precariously on the edge of something or another.

"Are you finished being a drama princess? Can we go home now?"

Justin smiled that three-and-a-half million watt smile and suddenly it wasn't dark that night in Pittsburgh. The little pinpricks of streetlamps and traffic lights were washed out completely.

"Let's get the fuck out of here."

They made their way down the stairs, and Brian still didn't recognize the place. In his mad dash to get to the roof, he didn't really take in his surroundings, but now that he knew his Sunshine was safe, he could breathe again and it seemed that his heart had resumed beating (because yes, he definitely has one).

"Where are we anyway?"

Justin shrugged, also looking around as if for the first time. He took off his glove and grabbed Brian's bare hand. Brian yelped but instead of yanking away he gave Justin's hand a squeeze.

"Your hands are goddamn frozen."

--

"What made you want to do it?" Brian asked, spooned up against Justin's back as they lay in bed. For a while Justin didn't say anything.

"Do what?"

Brian laughed his short little sarcastic laugh.

"Off yourself, you twat."

Justin didn't reply.

"What, were you listening to violin music or something?"

Justin laughed a little at that, and a tense coil of unease that Brian had no idea (could feel from the very beginning) existed began to unwind.

"I don't know."

"Bullshit."

Justin became quiet again and Brian cursed himself in his head.

"Well... right after I broke up with Ethan, Daph was trying to help me figure out a way to win you back."

Brian knew this (and was still incredibly flattered). As much as he'd wanted Justin back (so fucking badly it _hurt_), he couldn't just welcome him with open arms. Not after what Justin had done (even though he wanted to, especially since fucking Ian had hurt him). So in true Brian Kinney fashion, he had to give the poor boy a hard time.

"She told me I should tell you that I still loved you. I said you'd fucking laugh in my face."

'I wouldn't have done that,' Brian said bitterly in his head. Did Justin really think so lowly of him? (Even if he probably would be entirely correct since Brian would want to keep up his 'I'm-an-asshole-so-leave-me-alone' reputation which makes what Brian just said in his head a total lie)

Unaware of Brian's inner debate with himself, Justin continued, "Then she said to write you a letter. I said you'd tear it up."

It struck Brian as a little strange that Justin could quote himself word-for-word, especially since all this happened so long ago.

"And then she joked around and said I should attempt suicide and I..."

It was quiet for a while until Brian started rubbing soothing circles along the silky bare skin of Justin's back.

"I said you'd let me die."

It came out as barely a whisper, barely even audible in the openness of the loft. But to Brian it echoed loud and clear in his ears as if someone had yelled them into a megaphone.

He stroked his lover's hair for a moment, lost in the weight of the blond's words.

"I don't know what the fuck you were smoking," Brian said slowly, "But it is definitely not for you if it makes you depressed like that."

Justin didn't say anything.

Brian sighs.

"Justin, listen to me. Are you listening?"

He feels Justin's minute nod and hears the blond's hair make that scratchy-ish sound against his pillow.

"I would never let you get yourself into anything you can't handle, and if I didn't have a say in it I'd just jump in right with you. There's a lot you obviously don't realize about me, and I can't blame you since I haven't exactly been the model citizen--" he pauses, unsure for a second whether or not he really wants to let these words escape him--"or partner of the year. But I can tell you that anyone who would let you die is not only a piece of shit that deserves to fucking burn in hell, but is also not me. Definitely not me. I kind of want to ask you why the hell you'd think something like that, but hey, you're barely out of your teenage years, so you're still sort of entitled to your random acts of bullshit."

Justin turns around in his arms, his blue eyes boring unabashedly into hazel.

"I love you," he breathed, making Brian almost doubt that he heard him speak at all, and perhaps he was reading lips and somehow heard the words in his head. Since when was he enough of a queen to start filling silences with his own imagined foolishness? God, a little Sunshine and he's turning into a fucking dyke.

But then Justin burrowed into his arms, his voice muffled by Brian's chest but now unmistakable.

"I love you."

Brian tangled his fingers in Justin's hair and inhaled the familiar, comforting smell of Justin's favourite shampoo.

"Me too."


End file.
